An ode to the Bluebird

Image result for bluebird by charles bukowski

There’s a bluebird in my heart too
that doesn’t stay quiet.
and shows up
When I want it to stay inside
I do not pour whiskey, but wine,
but it shows anyway.

There’s a bluebird in my heart too
that keeps on shouting and screaming.
wanting to come out,
and I tell it that I am strong yet fragile,
that it should lay there inside
so I don’t look weak.

But my bluebird doesn’t wait for the night
it starts to sing,
(see we all are not so clever)
I know it makes me look weak
but if we all kept our bluebirds to us
how will this world be?

Also if my bluebird shows up first
does that give you power over me?
No.

That bluebird is enough to make a woman weep
and I weep,
don’t you?

Do not let words overshadow your love

Words, words are necessary,
To fill the gaps,
To be poured into hearts that are hollow,
They might be our deepest truths,
Or shallow,
But it is not necessary
To always fill silence,
With words,
For It overshadows,
Your love
Which can speak volumes,
Without a word escaping from your mouth,
And though words are necessary,
They are not everything,
Love is about.

The wrong kind of love

Vows, promises,
we held hands through all of it
I assured that I loved him
but words, words must not be trusted
because I remember what I once said
that I would always be happy in his happiness
empty words they were
and empty ones are good as dead.

I said I loved him
that all I want in life is to see him smile
if not me, someone else must come
to share his lows and highs.

But now, when he has left me
I want him to feel some pain
I want him to feel damaged
and to never be loved back again.

With hate

lonely

 

He has won with hate.

Almost forty years ago, he was abandoned. He was fifteen years old. Lost and baffled in the city he found himself in, he didn’t know what to do. He had no name.

He was a child whose existence barely mattered, he was puny, not meant for the wrath of the world. And his luck took him to the worst places. He worked as a laborer, as a cobbler, he was sold off as a servant once and was brutally beaten up. He somehow managed to escape. He accepted all the misery as if it was a part of his life. Suffering was normal for him.

He looked at people on the streets, laughing and smiling, and he always wondered, what brings that on their face. He had adjusted to the life he built for himself, a tiny shack in the slum area, a few friends, and a daily job. He worked at a construction site, carrying bricks, bags of mortar. He just earned enough to feed himself. He never really understood though why people smiled.

Often some stranger would look at him and smile, he hated it. He felt as if people pitied him. He didn’t want that, any of it.

The city was not very welcoming, but not so bad anymore, like the initial few years. He had not discarded the old memories. He wanted to remember every single thing that happened to him because that kept him alive. He was driven by hate. He just didn’t find the idea of being loved normal. Many people tried to be nice to him, old men and women, few would offer him a cup of tea, some invited him to come to their house and eat with them, some would want him to just talk to them, but he didn’t like any of it.

Hate is a strong emotion. While it can help you reach success, it can take away the light even when there is some, making you only see the darkness and the void that sucks you deeper within itself, making you hollow, depriving you of any positive emotion.

His life follows the same daily ritual, waking up early, walking to the construction site, having some little food in the nearby shop. This has been his ritual for all these years. He is 55 now.

He has lived all his life with a single emotion, an emotion that made him live all these years. He has no regrets. He has lived to this point and will live further. And he thinks that he has won with hate. Maybe he has. Or maybe he has just survived. Who knows what life could have been if he chose the other side of emotion. What could have been?

 

Worth keeping

Some things come,
but they do not stay,
though the goodbyes will be sad
and there will be a day
when you need to say
and see them
go away.

Yet the moments won’t leave
and though you feel hopeless
you must believe
that what came,
came for a reason,
you won’t be the same,
there will be a change of season
and all you have to do is
place them close to your heart
and make sure from your side
that you never let it part;
you must not let it part.

To love at all is to be vulnerable

Once in your life,
the chords of your heart will be struck
And feelings will not be reciprocated.
Though you know nothing of love
there will be an emotion unrequited.

Silly as it might seem
to feel something so strong,
to be intoxicated by some presence
and in absence,
yearn and long.

But once in your life
it will happen
and it won’t be curable
and that’s when you will know
to love at all
is to be vulnerable.